Heaven Trembles While We Condemn

On the Madness of Judging Those for Whom Christ Became Man

“Heaven is astounded at this, and the earth quakes, but they are insensible and unabashed.”

— St. Maximos the Confessor

There is something almost incomprehensible in this passage from St. Anastasios and St. Maximos because it reveals just how surrounded we are by mercy while continuing to behave as though condemnation were wisdom.

The Fathers do not merely tell us not to judge.

They overwhelm us with reasons not to judge.

They show us a universe saturated with the patience of God, the intercession of angels, the prayers of saints, the tears of repentance, the mystery of hidden transformation, the power of baptism, the healing of affliction, the medicine of chastisement, the compassion of Christ, and the joy of Heaven itself over the salvation of even one sinner.

And still we condemn.

That is the horror.

We condemn while standing inside the greatest revelation of mercy the world has ever known.

St. Anastasios says plainly: you do not know what has happened between God and that soul after the moment you witnessed his sin.

Not five years later.

Not tomorrow.

Ten steps later.

That is how quickly grace can act.

A man may fall publicly and repent secretly.

A woman may appear outwardly shattered while inwardly clinging to God with tears unknown to the world.

A soul everyone has dismissed may already be visited by the Holy Spirit.

And the Fathers insist that we understand this:

we know almost nothing.

We see fragments and imagine ourselves judges of the whole human being.

We see behavior but not wounds.

Actions but not warfare.

Falls but not repentance.

Scandal but not tears.

Weakness but not humility.

Temptation but not hidden prayer.

Worst of all, we do not see what God Himself is doing inside another person.

The Fathers say there are souls purified through illness.

Souls purified through humiliation.

Souls purified through temptation.

Souls purified through demonic assault endured with thanksgiving.

Souls saved through the prayers of others.

Souls restored in their final moments.

Souls secretly reconciled to God before death.

How then dare we speak so confidently about anyone?

The terrifying thing is that we do this while calling ourselves Christians.

Christians.

Those who claim to worship the God who became man for sinners.

The Incarnation alone should silence every condemning tongue forever.

The angels themselves longed to behold this mystery: that God would unite Himself to fallen humanity. Not to idealized humanity. Not to polished humanity. Fallen humanity.

Christ assumed the very flesh we despise in one another.

He entered the human condition completely apart from sin so that no sinner could ever again say:

“God does not know what I am.”

He knows.

He entered it willingly.

And Heaven never ceased rejoicing over this mystery.

St. Anastasios says the angels love mankind precisely because they beheld God become man. Imagine that. The bodiless powers who never fell into flesh are astonished by what humanity has become through Christ.

Meanwhile we, who were baptized into Him, often despise one another mercilessly.

The Fathers remind us that every baptized person has been entrusted to an angel.

Every baptized person has been sealed by the Spirit.

Every baptized person has become the object of heavenly concern.

The angels themselves plead for us.

Think of that.

While we gossip about one another, the angels intercede for one another.

While we expose each other’s failures, Heaven labors for each other’s salvation.

While we speak words that crush souls, the saints and angels beg God to heal them.

And still we continue as though condemnation were normal.

St. Maximos says Heaven is astonished at this.

Astounded.

The earth quakes.

But we are “insensible and unabashed.”

Insensible because we no longer perceive the mystery of redemption correctly.

Unabashed because we condemn others without trembling.

The saints trembled before judging another human being because they knew that judgment belongs to Christ alone. To judge another is not merely to commit a moral fault. St. Anastasios says it is to usurp the office of the Lord Himself.

This is why the Fathers speak so fiercely.

The judging heart has forgotten the Gospel.

It has forgotten the thief entering Paradise in a single moment.

It has forgotten Rahab the harlot.

It has forgotten the Publican justified by a sigh.

It has forgotten Manasses forgiven after decades of horror.

It has forgotten Peter restored after denial.

It has forgotten that Judas stood among the Apostles while the thief hung among murderers, and yet by evening their places were reversed.

The saints understood something we resist with all our strength:

human beings are not static creatures.

A single moment of real repentance can alter eternity.

And because of this, the saints became exceedingly merciful. Not naïve about evil. Not indifferent to sin. But deeply aware that every person stands inside a battle for salvation surrounded by mysteries unseen to human eyes.

The demons accuse.

Christ heals.

The demons reduce persons to failures.

Christ beholds the image buried beneath the ruin.

The demons delight in exposure.

Christ covers nakedness.

And the terrible thing is how often religious people unknowingly participate in the work of accusation while imagining themselves defenders of righteousness.

The Fathers knew better.

This is why the holiest among them became gentlest toward sinners and harshest toward themselves.

Because the closer one comes to God, the more clearly one sees that he himself survives only by mercy.

And once a man truly knows this, condemnation becomes impossible.

He no longer stands above humanity.

He stands beside it, beating his breast, praying:

“To You, O Lord, belongs mercy.”